


A Glass of Jameson and a Pint of Mead

by freudensteins_monster



Series: Dec Prompt Meme Collection [4]
Category: Norse Religion & Lore, Thor (Movies)
Genre: An actor and a Norse god walk into a bar, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 10:30:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9177049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freudensteins_monster/pseuds/freudensteins_monster
Summary: Tom's busy preparing for his first big Hollywood role when he gets some surprising help with his character study.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt meme thing I posted on tumblr... 
> 
> alpanu said:  
> "Drink Me" with Loki and Tom, where Loki explains Tom how to play him 
> 
> Perhaps not *exactly* what was asked for, but I hope it's okay.

Tom was nervous. Understandable, really. He was preparing to start work on his first Hollywood blockbuster, in a superhero movie no less. But it was more than that, he’d tell his friends and ‘serious actors’ contemporaries alike, it was a familial drama of Shakespearean proportions, especially with Ken at the helm. Which is why he was holed up in a corner booth of a pub down the road from his apartment (which had become claustrophobic with its maze of moving boxes) on an dreary Sunday afternoon with his copy of the “Thor” script, a notebook, a few pens and highlighters, as well as a well-thumbed copy of “Othello” spread out on the table before him. It was his plan to spend the day revisiting Shakespeare’s master manipulator and make a few notes in his script before heading off for dinner with his mother. He pushed his blonde hair behind his ear at the thought, knowing she’d comment on how long his hair was getting. It hadn’t quite bounced back from being straightened for his screening test as Thor but he’d kept it long at Ken’s request, and could only hope the stringy mess looked better dyed black. And oh, wouldn’t his mother have something to say about that, he snorted into his drink.

An hour passed in quiet study and he was just making a few notes on some other reference materials he wanted to seek out when his empty glass was replaced with a full glass of Jameson on ice.

“Thank you,” he said absently, barely glancing up from his work. It wasn’t until another heavier glass was placed on the table that Tom realised that someone had slid into the booth opposite him. “Can I help you?” he asked, his eyes darting around the pub to check that, yes, there were plenty of other seats available.

“No,” the other man drawled, seeming both bored and irritated at the same time. “I just felt compelled to meet you.”

Tom fidgeted with his pen nervously. He didn’t really get stopped on the street by fans, something his publicist had warned him was going to change after Thor, especially not by fans who were well-dressed men in their forties or twenties. It was difficult to tell. Tom drank in all the details of the man before him quickly and tried to figure out what else he might want from him. His accent seemed English with a hint of something Scandinavian that Tom couldn’t place. He was wearing a black three piece suit with green accents, which made him stand out like a sore thumb in the dingy pub, but none of the other patrons seemed to pay him any mind. He had long dark hair and bright green eyes, with pale skin and sharp features, and something that he could only describe as a ‘dark glow’ about him, but Tom figured that was his imagination or possibly the whiskey playing tricks on him.

The man’s smile grew as the seconds ticked by, but his expression lost none of his menacing edge. Tom had a nagging feeling that he should know the man from somewhere, but couldn’t place the suspicious character - it wasn’t as though he had any expensive habits or owed anyone money, and he hadn’t knowingly slept with someone else’s girlfriend.

“Who are you?” Tom finally asked, completely at a loss.

“You’re a clever mortal, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” He grinned then, his teeth gleaming in the gloomy corner of the pub. The man picked up his glass, a strange engraved tankard Tom was certain the pub didn’t stock, and drank from it until it was half empty. The action drew Tom’s attention to the man’s sleeves, to the strands of green thread woven into the expensive material of his suit and to the ornate gold cufflinks affixed to his dark emerald sleeves underneath. It look Celtic in design, or maybe… maybe Norse.

_Wait… did he say ‘mortal’?_

Tom’s eyes flicked up to scan the man’s face, green eyes dancing with merriment stared back at him. No, it wasn’t possible, Tom thought. There was no way he was going to say that thought out loud because it was utterly mad, he’d have to be crazy for even considering it.

“No, just perceptive,” the man smirked.

“I’m sorry?” Tom murmured, a shaking hand reaching for his own drink.

“You’re not crazy,” the ~~god~~ man assured him, Tom’s eyes going wide as the man’s drink refilled of its own accord. “I’m just… impossible,” he smirked, leaning back into his seat as to make himself comfortable.

“Loki?” Tom stammered, his voice barely even a whisper.

“Aye, the one… and only,” he added sharply, his eyes narrowing at the actor. Tom audibly gulped as the ~~man~~ god reached for the “Thor” script, flicking through the pages with feigned disinterest. “When word reached me of this little cinematic endeavour I felt compelled to revisit this backwards little world and see what they were planning. Thor has been whining for what feels like centuries that a mere mortal is not fit to portray him and his heroic deeds,” Loki drawled with a slight roll of his eyes.

“And… and what do you think?” Tom ventured nervously.

“I am unsure at this point. It is but one story told in one tiny corner of the universe, ultimately it is of no consequence, but I know the power of stories. There’s nothing in here about the horse is there?” he asked suddenly as he flipped through the script. “You’d think flaying the skin from the body of the instigator of that particular ridiculous rumour would be enough to deter people from repeating it,” he mused, though there was a slight growl to his voice.

“No, no, nothing like that,” Tom swore hastily.

“Good. Because I would be quite put out if you were to make a mockery of me.”

“I would never,” Tom swore again, hand on his heart. “I think he’s an amazing character. I mean, I don’t know how much, if any, is you. I mean, it’s a movie based on a comic, based on Norse mythology, I have no idea how much of it is true…”

“Very little,” Loki interjected, putting an end to Tom’s nervous rambling.

“But I think he’s an amazing character,” Tom repeated, taking a calming breath. “Incredibly complicated and full of internalised pain, with this innate joy for the chaos he creates. It’s the role of a lifetime,” he added honestly, trying not to trembling as the god’s eyes bored into him.

“Hmm,” was all the reaction Loki gave, turning his attention back to the script.

The whole of creation seemed to pass between the minutes as Tom tried not to stare at the Norse god reading his heavily annotated copy of the script.

“Hmm,” Loki repeated, an amused smile softening his expression. “What precisely is a ‘taser’?”

“Um… it’s, uh, a non-lethal weapon. It shoots these electrode things and stuns the attacker.”

“It electrocutes them?” Loki queried gleefully. “How marvellous.” His expression sobered as he turned the page. “Odin is not my father, just so you know,” he said quietly.

“The mythologies say you’re brothers.”

“We’re not that either,” he replied irritably.

Tom shut his mouth at that, watching wide-eyed as the god conjured a quill made from a raven’s feather, and began making notes in the margins of his script.

“Regardless, this seems to be a pivotal scene for this incarnation of myself.”

“I thought so too,” Tom murmured, watching eagerly as the pages kept turning and more notes were added.

“This version of Thor seems stubbornly heroic and unfairly worshipped, so hopefully Thor won’t complain too much,” Loki said with a roll of his eyes. “’Maniacally’?” he muttered as he neared the end of the script, crossing out several lines. “I am not some cartoon villain, am I?” Tom shook his head mutely. He shifted nervously in his seat as Loki’s brow creased and he reread the last few pages. “This ending seems preposterous.”

“How so?” Tom ventured hesitantly.

“Why did he let go of the staff? Why fall to his death? It seems unnecessarily dramatic.”

“My take,” he began apologetically. “Is that after learning the truth of his heritage, and realising that he could ever do would make him Thor’s equal in his adoptive father’s eyes, that there was nothing left in Asgard for him, nothing left for him to live for. And letting go, it seems to me, was the ultimate rejection of all their lies and apologies, and it was the only thing that Loki could do, in that moment, in which he maintain any control of his future, as bleak as that sounds.”

Loki blinked, absorbing Tom’s words, before closing the script with a slap. “Preposterous,” he repeated, dismissing his quill with a wave of his hands. “I would have gotten out of it somehow - I’ve gotten out of worse situations - or I would have at least pulled those two bastards down with me. But, I suppose,” he sighed, standing up from the booth and refastening his suit buttons. “Within the context of the film, it’s not a terrible ending for my character, lends him some sympathy,” he added with a shrug.

“I’ve already been contracted for second film, so Loki comes back… somehow,” Tom supplied in an effort to appease the god.

“Does he?” Loki replied excitedly, his eyes lighting up with a mischief that Tom could only hope to portray on film. “Won’t that be interesting,” he purred. He drained his tankard and regarded Tom curiously, “It was... _interesting_ to meet you, and I’m certain you’ll do a good job,” he smirked, his words equal parts encouragement and threat.

Before Tom had a chance to reply the sound of shattering glass pulled his attention away, and in the split second it took his gaze to pull back to the seat opposite him the god had vanished. Tom glanced about the bar urgently but apparently no one else was startled by the sudden disappearance of the well-dressed stranger. With trembling hands he reached for his script, skimming the pages for the new notes that were definitely there and not a product of his alcohol addled imagination. He hastily shoved the books and pens into his messenger bag and made to escape the pub, turning back after a few steps to reclaim his drink, downing it in one large gulp. He ran out onto the street, ignorant of the rain, and didn’t stop until he reached his mother’s house, his eyes and hair wild.

“It’s just nerves, dear,” his mother assured him, pushing a hot cup of tea into his trembling hands. By the time he’d finished it he almost believed her.

 

_A few years later…_

Tom returned to his hotel room after a long day of promoting “The Avengers” and ordered a light dinner, hopping into the shower while he waited for it to arrive. He was midway through an email to one of his sisters when there was a knock at his door.

“Good evening, sir,” the attendant greeted, pushing the service trolley into the room.

“Thank you,” Tom replied, as he signed for his meal. He eyed the covered plate hungrily but faltered when he noticed a familiar green bottle. “I’m sorry, I didn’t order that,” he said, pointing to the bottle of Jameson.

“Oh, no, sir,” the attendant apologised. “That was a gift left with reception. It was requested that it be brought up with your next meal.”

“Oh, alright then,” Tom murmured, his brow creased with confusion. He locked the door behind the attendant and sat down at the small dining table, eyeing the bottle suspiciously. He pulled out a white envelope tucked underneath it, but instead of a card there was a photograph. Tom’s eyes went wide and the colour drained from his face as a Norse god at a comic convention wearing a Loki costume smiled back at him. His arms were spread wide and there were a dozen fangirls desperately trying to get closer to him. With shaking hands Tom turned the photo over.

_“Job well done, mortal. I haven’t felt this worshipped in centuries."_


End file.
